


The Deepest Secret Nobody Knows

by SonnetCXVI



Series: The Deepest Secret Nobody Knows [1]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 15:29:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8758507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonnetCXVI/pseuds/SonnetCXVI
Summary: "I have never loved anything as I love you."





	

**Author's Note:**

> The sections within the chapters are in chronological order. However, in most cases, time will have passed between them.
> 
> The explicit rating is for Chapter 2.

I

“I like this one,” says Cosima, before they even set foot on the porch. “She’s like the painted ladies at home.”

“What?” Delphine snorts and Cosima remembers that she wouldn’t know this term. 

“They’re Victorians that are painted in multiple colors. San Fran is famous for them.”

“I don’t know, Cosima. It looks like it needs a lot of work and it’s kind of … frumpy … no?”

Buying the house is a big moment. It is a tangible, legal commitment to each other. And beyond that, it is the gateway to the other decisions about how they want their new lives to unfold. They no longer have a structure created by someone else to contain them. They haven’t been inserted into a larger mechanism over which they have no control. They are, for the first time, their own agents. They can choose whatever they want. 

They eventually decide on the Victorian that reminds Cosima of home, with the proviso that the interior will be more modern and sleek to accommodate Delphine. It feels good to acknowledge with the house that they aren’t forced by necessity to pursue a particular course of action; Cosima’s life isn’t at stake anymore. This time they have _chosen_ to be yoked, and they are pulling their burdens and joys on a cart of their own design down a road of their own choosing.

The house needs a lot of work. It isn’t well-insulated and the kitchen is a disaster. And what had originally been the study has been converted into an extra bedroom and must be changed back. They will have to endure a renovation as they live in it. After much discussion and compromise, they have agreed that they will do as much of the work as they can themselves. Cosima is adamant that they are smart and can figure it out. And she says that she needs to concentrate on something comforting and creative and …physical … for a while. She just can’t bring herself to look through a microscope right now. 

“Besides,” she says when she presents Delphine with the gift of a tool belt after they have signed the papers, “You know how much I love it when you wear those low-slung belts. The fact that this one has tools dangling from it is just a bonus.” She leans in. “This thing might just get you laid.”

II

Delphine likes to cook, as it turns out, and Cosima’s favorite time of day is when she sits at the kitchen island, drinking wine and watching Delphine sway and sing along with whatever music she has chosen. She suspects that part of Delphine is showing off with this ritual, because she still courts Cosima, even though it is totally unnecessary. After all, it is impossible to miss that Cosima is deeply and euphorically in love with her. Still, she does many of the things that would be more expected if they were enjoying a traditional courtship instead of a bonded relationship, like offering little love tokens and preparing as carefully for bed as if they had never touched before. And, of course, the kitchen seduction.

All things considered, Cosima thinks, Delphine’s desire to woo her is totally perfect, not only because she feels loved, but because Delphine reveals things about herself through this behavior that bring Cosima joy. For example, Cosima has learned that Delphine has a courtly side, offering her hand when the steps are slick or walking on the street side when they are on the sidewalk. This attitude is not chivalrous in the masculine/feminine sense (nobody’s rushing to open a door in this relationship), but more a reflection of selflessness and respect. Cosima knows that Delphine is chivalrous, not because she thinks Cosima is weak and needs her courtesy, but because she thinks Cosima is her equal and deserves her courtesy. It is touching, really, this untarnished and unremarked-upon protectiveness, this “goodness” that Cosima had never before given her credit for.

Nonetheless, the thing that Cosima finds most endearing in Delphine’s courtship isn’t particularly profound, although there is much of the passionate and profound to choose from. What she loves best is how Delphine has unleashed a wicked sense of humor. Cosima has a lot of smart-ass in her, and the once more-serious Delphine now plays to this proclivity, her surprising silliness and irreverent commentary propelling Cosima into fits of comic one-upmanship. For example, Delphine intentionally mangles her English from time to time, choosing the most serious moments to employ this tactic and bust Cosima up. Cosima’s a sucker for the malapropisms and mispronunciations and for the little chuckle that follows. It is perpetually charming and endearing and she falls in love again every time Delphine does it.

III

One evening Delphine is roasting root vegetables and singing along enthusiastically to Lady Gaga, which she knows will make Cosima laugh, when she whips around for the chorus of “Born this Way” and struts to the kitchen island to threaten Cosima’s clean blouse with her olive-oil-covered hands.

“Don’t do it,” Cosima laughs, pushing her stool back slightly so that a getaway will be easy should it become necessary. “I just washed this thing.”

Delphine waggles her fingers. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Not even,” replies a smiling Cosima. “You’re the devil incarnate with a sicko oil fetish. I know where this could end up.” 

Delphine laughs, steps behind Cosima, and teases, “You’re in trouble now, _mon petit chiot_. I’m going to grease you up and pop you into the oven with the carrots. Your clean laundry won’t save you.”

Cosima, in the universal “don’t tickle me” gesture, draws her shoulders up to her ears and leans forward across the counter in a vain effort to get out of range, sure that Delphine is going to poke her. She flips her head from side to side to keep Delphine in view over her shoulders, and parries with, “Ha! You can’t. You don’t have a pan that big.” 

“Then I guess I’ll have to drag out the barbeque,” counters Delphine.

“We’re out of propane!”

Delphine leans in and Cosima really starts to squirm. “Then it’s a good thing I’m a scientist, don’t you think? I can make fire out of cotton balls and Vaseline.” She smiles, which is lost on Cosima, but when she raises her hands into Cosima’s peripheral line of sight and points her index fingers at her armpits, this is most definitely not lost on her.

“You’re a sick woman, Delphine,” she laughs breathlessly, and then, anticipating a feint, shouts, “Uncle. Uncle!” throwing up her hands in surrender.

This snapshot of Cosima, flushed and laughing, radiant with health and animal vigor, pierces Delphine and she is astonished by the realization: _this is happiness. This woman, this moment. This is joy._

Suddenly she is uninterested in playing anymore. She steps closer and presses against Cosima’s back. They hover in this mixed energy for a moment, Delphine still and tender and Cosima giddy, until Cosima drops her shoulders and leans back. Laying her cheek against the crown of Cosima’s head, Delphine drapes her arms over her lover’s shoulders so that her oily hands dangle in front, away from her blouse. The moment has shifted. Cosima reaches up to grip her forearms and pull her closer.

They remain in this position, Delphine’s front pressed to Cosima’s back, until Delphine releases a little sigh and leans down to kiss Cosima on the cheek. She says softly, “I think you would taste lovely coated in oil, _chérie_ ,” and steps back to return to her cooking.

Cosima tightens her grip and pulls her back, refusing to release her. 

“I want you to touch me,” she whispers. 

“Then take off your blouse,” murmurs Delphine, who has already bent to kiss her.

 

IV

  
Cosima finds Delphine’s intelligence endlessly entertaining and sexy. They talk about all kinds of things: non-carbon-based life, curry, shoes, recent immunology studies, color theory, the evolutionary imperative for sexual arousal, Smurfs, what different cities smell like. They also like to argue about music. Delphine likes jazz and blues and Cosima likes alt. They agree on American oldies and beach music.

“You like beach music? Really? I mean, I grew up in California,” says Cosima when this revelation is made. “You know: zinc oxide, surfing, sand in your cracks? You have to like the Beach Boys there or they, like, make you live in New Hampshire. What does beach music have to do with French boarding school?” 

“Why are you so surprised?” Delphine replies. “Do you think we are isolated in Europe? American culture is unavoidable, which most _francais_ despise, by the way. We hear all of your music.”

Cosima is not convinced, her face arranged in the “really, that’s your explanation?” look. 

Delphine sighs. “Beach music is simple and cheerful. It makes me happy, OK? So sue me.” 

“Sue you? Sue you?” 

Cosima guffaws, bending at the waist and then unfolding to laugh some more. 

“You can’t say sue me with a French accent,” she sputters. “So, so wrong.” 

She begins to mock Delphine’s pronunciation of _sue_. “Su, soo, sooh.” 

Delphine cocks one hip and compresses her lips, which only cracks Cosima up more. 

Suddenly Cosima slaps her thigh and looks up at Delphine. “Oh my God!”

Her next thought clearly undoes her because she laughs so hard that her eyes tear up and she can barely choke it out.

“Say: ‘for real, dude.’

“Say: ‘totally rad.’ 

“No, no! Say: ‘Yo, she my baby mama.’” 

Delphine gives her the barest of annoyed smiles and says in a perfect, flat American accent, “Shut the fuck up, butthead.”

 

V

Occasionally Delphine plays opera and translates for Cosima, who only recognizes the most famous arias and doesn’t know enough French or Italian to keep up. One afternoon she is playing _La Traviata_ when Cosima comes in from gaming with Scott and the boys. They sit together on the sofa, Cosima’s head in her lap, listening to the second act and holding hands. Eventually Delphine says, “I love this part.” 

“Why? What is she saying?” asks Cosima. 

“Violetta is dying of consumption and has been rejected by her lover. She sings to him: _Ma verrà tempo in che il saprai, come t'amassi confesserai. Dio dai rimorsi ti salvi allora, Io spenta ancora pur t'amerò_. She is telling him that one day he will admit how much she loved him, and then she prays that God will save him from his remorse. The last line is _I shall be dead but I shall love you still_.” 

“That’s pretty dramatic,” says Cosima. 

“Yes, well, drama is the point of opera,” says Delphine. 

“You don’t believe in any of that stuff, do you?” asks Cosima. “The idea that you can love someone forever, even beyond death.” 

“I don’t think there is anything beyond death,” replies Delphine. “I think death is … hateful … in its finality.” 

“Maybe,” says Cosima. “But I like to think that even after my atoms reenter the universe to be used again for some other purpose, I would still love you somehow.” 

Delphine sighs and gives her a rueful smile that is mostly a downturn of her lips. 

“What?” asks Cosima, “We can’t possibly know what will happen.” 

“Then perhaps it must be enough to hope that it is true,” replies Delphine, squeezing her hand. 

 

VI

Delphine in sweaty workout clothes, passed out on the couch with her mouth open. Cosima walking by with an empty mug and remarking, “I’d hit that. I’d totally hit that,” as she pads to the kitchen.

 

VII

“We should have a song,” says Cosima as they sweep up the debris from the demolition of the study. 

“Do you have something in mind?” asks Delphine. 

“Nah,” she replies, grinning. “But I could totally get into your singing me our song while you hump my brains out.” 

Delphine snorts and says that in that case, perhaps they should choose something with a driving beat. 

“Totally,” grins Cosima, “or something with a big finish.” 

“Or something with several big finishes,” smirks Delphine.

 

VIII

After dinner there are dishes and, on this night, Motown. “Ooooh,” says Cosima as they finish the pans, “I love this song. “My Girl” is totes classic. Dance with me?” 

She pulls Delphine away from the sink and takes her hands. “I’ll teach you the Carolina Shag.” 

“The… what?” asks Delphine. 

“Don’t sweat it, Ginger, I’ll parse it later. Just follow my lead.” 

It is intoxicating, how happy they are, dancing in their kitchen, buzzed from the wine and completely in love. Delphine enjoys the new dance, which is energetic and, once she has mastered the basic steps, full of spins and twirls, a true couple’s dance. They dance for quite a while and end up tight in each other’s arms, swaying to, of all things, The Marvelettes. 

“You know,” says Delphine after they have gone to bed, “I only love you because you let me lead when we dance. I am indifferent to the rest of your qualities.” 

“You are such a liar,” murmurs Cosima. “You love me because it makes you hot when I sing the periodic table song. Totally hot. Scary hot. You go, like, Debbie Does Dallas when I sing that song.” 

“Yes,” admits Delphine. “It’s completely true. I always want to do you when you get to the transition metals.” 

“Better living through chemistry, dude. That’s my motto,” whispers Cosima as she takes her lover in her arms. 

“Just do it. That’s my motto,” Delphine whispers back. 

IX

It will be only eleven more weeks before they check the pillowcases, each morning, for blood.

**Author's Note:**

> The title and chapter titles are from "i carry your heart in me (i carry it in" by E.E. Cummings. I will post an excerpt at the end of Chapter 4.


End file.
